


A New Piece

by persephermione



Series: Broken Reeds [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John is Amazed, John plays clarinet, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Rugby Captain John, Sherlock is insecure, Sherlock plays violin, Uni!lock, Violinist!lock, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephermione/pseuds/persephermione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John plays clarinet in the same group that Sherlock plays violin in. Neither of them can seem to stop thinking about the handsome instrumentalist across the room he's never spoken to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Piece

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ani_Isilee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ani_Isilee/gifts).



> Who once again inspired me to write something.

John enters the music building half an hour before his chamber ensemble practice begins, and as always he accidentally smacks his beat-up clarinet case into the door, making a mental note that he needs to buy new reeds. It’s not his fault that he keeps on breaking them, he argues to himself. He wouldn’t be hitting them on his music stand all the time if Sherlock Holmes wasn’t in his group. Arguably, it might be his fault he keeps breaking them as he’s the one who can’t keep his eyes off the brilliant, gorgeous violinist, but John thinks he really shouldn’t be judged for being distracted.

He strolls down the stairs to their floor, taking his time as he knows that no one else will be there so early. But, he had nothing else to do, so he figured he could get some practicing in. He’s done this a few times. Sometimes Molly’s early as well, working away on her flute, but he’s never seen anyone else arrive until the last five minutes before rehearsal.

He meanders down the hallway to their practice room, mind drifting back to Sherlock. John wonders what he does in his free time before rehearsal. Despite the near-constant daydreams, John knows almost nothing about him other than the fact that he’s an astounding violinist. John’s never spoken to him, but he’s seen him deduce people before, mostly to insult Anderson when his viola screeches more than usual. John doesn’t even know what Sherlock majors in, but he has such a sharp brain he could be studying anything. God, how John wants to know more about him. 

As he turns into the classroom, he suddenly notices the violin music that had been drifting through the air, so lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear it. It’s sweet and light, but it sounds as though it's longing for something.

He stands stock-still, just inside the doorway, staring at Sherlock Holmes as he plays a piece John doesn't recognize from their practices with his eyes closed. He stays there, watching Sherlock’s brow furrow and un-furrow in tiny increments, staring at the violinist's fingers as they delicately dance around the fingerboard, distantly noting how he moves with the instrument.

The piece ends, not with a flourish typical of the tall violinist, but with a soft sigh of a note that fades into silence. 

. . . . . 

Sherlock's eyes fly open at the quiet exhale from the doorway. He hastily drops his violin to his lap, turning bright red as he does so. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone would be here for another twenty minutes," he murmurs, avoiding the rugby captain's gaze.

"That-," John clears his throat, "that was incredible. What was that?"

Sherlock starts. This is the first time the clarinetist with a smile like the sun has spoken directly to him. His voice is slightly rough, his tenor gliding over Sherlock and making him shiver.

"I - um - that was a piece I - th-that I wrote," he manages to get out, still evading John’s gaze.

"Really?" John asks, surprise in his voice.

"Well . . . yes," Sherlock responds, suddenly insecure. He knows that the other members of their group know he can play well, but he's a bit hurt that John is incredulous that he can compose too.

"No, no, it was incredible!" John exclaims, finally moving from his spot in the doorway to walk towards Sherlock. Sherlock looks up in surprise at John's tone. He almost seems impressed by what he heard. He meets the blond's eye, where he sees a mix of emotions: incredulity, happiness, and something that looks almost like a glimmer admiration? No. That can't be right. Wrong deduction. Accurately deducing the emotions of other people is a struggle, something he must improve on, because that cannot possibly be right.

Sherlock up blinks at him, unsure of what to say. John's stopped just in front of Sherlock's music stand, where he's apparently noticed that there isn't any sheet music for Sherlock to look off of.

"Did you play that all from memory?" John asks, surprise again evident in his voice.

"Yes." Sherlock blinks at him, "I - I wrote it in my head. I’ll only transfer it to paper once I've finished fixing it.”

"Fixing it? It's beautiful as it is," John says, "What do you call it?"

Sherlock pauses, unsure. 

"I haven't named it yet," he says slowly, quite aware that he has most definitely given it a name, that that name belongs to the boy standing in front of him.

"Well, it's amazing." John drops his bag and case under the chair next to Sherlock. He'll have to move before practice begins, the clarinets all sit across the room, but for now he sits next to Sherlock.

When Greg Lestrade walks in twenty minutes later, the next person to arrive, he smirks as he takes in the sight before him: John's arm resting on the back of Sherlock's chair, grinning as he chats with Sherlock, the two of them leaning in close together with Sherlock's violin forgotten in his lap, his knee knocking against John's.

The two don't even notice Greg’s presence until he thumps his cello out of its case, at which point John's ears turn bright red as he picks up his things and makes his way across the room to his rightful seat.

The rest of the group trickles in and soon after, Mrs. Hudson begins practice. For the next hour, John and Sherlock can’t seem to stop glancing at each other over their music stands. Every so often they catch each other's eyes and quickly look away, pretending to study their music. Sherlock plays just as well as he normally does during their practice, but for once he doesn't turn around to yell at anyone for their lack of practice, instead too busy anticipating taking John up on his offer to get coffee after practice ends.


End file.
